


Lessons

by sam80853



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-22
Updated: 2011-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-14 23:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam80853/pseuds/sam80853
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser giving Ray fencing lessons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons

For reasons that don’t need exploring at this juncture I’m wearing a white uniform today, not my usual red serge or even the brown uniform. It’s not even RCMP standard I have to admit. But I’m off duty and therefore, even living in the Canadian Consulate, allowed to wear something more to my liking.

Not that I do not like the red serge, far from it, but the wool is rather itchy, causing a fairly nasty rash around my neck. The mask, including a bib, that is FIE regulation, is more comfortable and appropriate around my neck, protecting it by supporting at least 25 kilogram at force. A force Ray might put on me, standing opposite of me, equally dressed in a form-fitting jacket, covering his groin, under-arm protector underneath the jacket, gloves with gauntlet, which is supposed to prevent swords going up his sleeve and causing injury, as well as a pair of trousers, breeches, and knee-length socks, covering the rest of his long legs.

Complete fencing equipment became necessary when Ray’s curiosity about this particular sport turned into an almost daily exercise.

Perhaps it would have been wiser to revert to a professional fencer but Ray insisted that my knowledge, which I gathered from a very old book from my grandparent’s library, is sufficient for ‘some guys goofing around’ as Ray put it.

So, we set up a two meters wide and fourteen meters long strip in the basement of the Consulate and started our training regimen - a wearisome and sometimes hurtful process in the beginning.

Ray’s impatience and my ‘teacher-voice’, as Ray referred to it, caused some difficulties and rather painful bruises.

Fencing depends to a high degree on being in the right place at the right time, constantly manoeuvring in and out of each other’s range, accelerating, decelerating, changing directions, all of it with minimum effort and maximum grace - something in which Ray clearly has advantage, considering his history as a dancer.

But as perfect and graceful as Ray’s footwork may be, his impatience to score, his frequent inability to wait for the right moment cost him games he would have easily won otherwise.

“You ready?” Ray asks, saluting, raising his sword to a vertical position with the guard just below face level, and then lowers it again to put on his mask and takes his fence stance just behind the en-garde line.

I mirror his movements, sensing that something is different in Ray’s behaviour; he is radiating a calmness today that wasn’t there before. Perhaps our training regimen has improved his ability to control his often restless energy somewhat.

I’m almost sad to see the difference; I admire Ray’s ability to voice his affections with his voice and body, something I’m rather dependent on when I'm reading Ray’s body language.

Not so today; I just can’t anticipate Ray’s course of action, his tactic. He is in and out of my range before I can even react or fully understand what has just happened.

“Footwork, Frase,” Ray yells through his mask, smiling, no doubt.

I salute and Ray attacks again.

And again.

Again.

Sweat is running down my face, making it hard to see behind the mask.

Perhaps my inability to defy Ray today has nothing to do with Ray himself, perhaps I’m getting sick.

No, that is just petty!

I shall face my defeat; accept that Ray might be better than me, his body moving fluently with the grace of a dancer.

It’s not for the first time that I recognize how well this clothing fits Ray, his wiry body protected by plastic chest protectors, straps which go between his legs to hold the jacket in accurate place, to protect Ray’s rather delicate body parts. Long, well-formed legs, easily placed around someone’s waist…

Oh dear.

As aware as I am of my attraction to Ray, this is a rather inappropriate time to think about such things, with Ray in the room, sword in hand, attacking.

I’m barely able to ward off Ray’s offence with my sword. But Ray apparently overdoes it a tad, perhaps his concentration is wearing off. He collides with me, sending us in a heap of limbs to the ground.

“You’re a million miles away, Frase,” Ray whispers, his mask touching mine, not making any effort to remove himself.

I’m breathing hard, feeling Ray’s body covering mine all too clearly, and I can’t see Ray’s eyes through the mask. But I must.

His body language has been betraying me all day long but now, now I have to know what’s going on and Ray’s eyes might be the only reliable source right now.

So, I take my hands off Ray’s waist, where I have placed them to steady his body, and reach for his head, his mask. To pull it off and …

“Constable Fraser!”

Ray groans frustrated, his head, still covered by the mask, resting on my shoulder.

We really must look strangely, lying on the ground, almost hugging each other, but Constable Turnbull doesn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary.

I can’t state the same because Constable Turnbull is dressed rather… startling. He might, like myself, be off duty but misusing the uniform in such a fashion is really unacceptable. But I also have to admit to have seen this particular outfit once already, in a rather dubious club in downtown Chicago, and had hoped to never come face to face with such a thing again.

Ray, who has taken off his mask, is giggling against my shoulder now, his hot breath coming through my clothing, onto my skin, making it hard to concentrate.

“There has been an accident,” Turnbull whispers, holding a hand over his mouth like he’s about to break out in tears at any moment.

The word ‘accident’ makes my body freeze up, as does Diefenbaker’s whining growl.

I’m up in a second, almost pushing Ray off me – Diefenbaker is the only friend, except Ray, I have in Chicago and I may not always value his opinion but he’s my loyal companion, my responsibility, I care deeply for his well-being.

Up the stairs, around the corner and I take a deep breath, seeing Diefenbaker sitting on his hind legs, his right front paw raised. There clearly has been an injury but it is not, as I had feared, a fatal one.

“What’s with the mutt?” I hear Ray’s worried voice from behind.

“I don’t know yet, Ray,” I answer, taking a closer look at Dief’s injury.

It seems like something heavy was rolled over his front paw, like a wheel of a … vending cart.

“Diefenbaker?” I look at him questioningly and he avoids my eyes, making his guilt rather obvious.

“What?”

“I’m afraid Diefenbaker was hunting for one of Mr. Donaldson’s hot dogs, Ray, getting too close to the wheels,” I explain, carefully touching Dief’s leg, feeling for a broken bone that fortunately isn’t there.

Dief whines pitifully, rolling onto his side. But as hurtful as his injury might be, I figure he is doing so to gather Ray’s sympathy rather than out of pain.

Dief’s strategy is successful. Ray’s petting his head now; explaining that Chicago is not the wilderness of the Territories and a wolf like him has to be careful around here.

“Ray!”

As touching as this gesture might be, there has to be consequences, otherwise Diefenbaker would not learn from this incident and next time … suddenly my heart starts beating faster in my chest. Next time could be a car or … I’m shaking slightly, horrible thoughts of being stranded in Chicago all alone running through my head.

“Frase? Fraser!”

Ray’s warm hand on my face brings me back; my suddenly pale face flushing pink.

“C’mon, Frase,” Ray says. “Let’s get you out of here.”

He doesn’t even let me change my clothes, just takes us to his car and into his home where he makes me sit on his couch, placing the remote control in my hand while whispering something about fixing peanut butter jelly sandwiches for his injured friend in the bedroom.

When I finally understand what’s going on Diefenbaker is already in Ray’s bed, chewing down a sandwich, leaving crumbs all over Ray’s sheets.

“Ray,” I protest but Ray just smiles at me like it’s perfectly normal to have a half-wolf in his bed.

“You really shouldn’t …”

“He’s injured, Frase”, Ray says. “I would do the same for you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Ray.”

“Yeah, you do that,” and I’m certain he’s offering something more than just a helping hand for a hurt friend here.

“I … I didn’t had the chance to congratulate you to your excellent fencing technique today, Ray,” I babble, now that my mind is off Diefenbaker and focused on Ray again who is looking at me intently.

“You were surprised,” Ray states seriously, taking a seat close to me on the couch.

“Yes.”

“In a good way?”

“Your concentration has certainly improved as your …”

“Fraser!”

“Yes, Ray.”

“What, ‘yes, Ray’, Fraser?”

He gets impatient; perhaps our fencing lessons haven't affected this side of Ray’s personality after all. I can’t say that I’m sorry.

“I was surprised in a good way, Ray.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, Ray.”

“Does that mean,” he cocks his head in a rather adorable way and I can’t help but reach for him, his face, bringing him close.

“Yes,” I whisper against his lips before I kiss him.

Ray’s lips are soft, moving tenderly but the angle makes it rather awkward to kiss properly and I heave Ray onto my lap, his body covering mine from chest to waist now, my hands buried deep in his hair.

He’s smiling against my lips, moaning deeply when I lick his bottom lip, begging for admission, which he eagerly grants.

I’m completely surrounded by Ray – his hands on my neck, holding me close, his lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth, his taste. The smell of his hair styling products, his approving noises...

A whine.

Certainly it’s not Ray, who is… Diefenbaker is whining in the bedroom, and I break the kiss, breathing heavily in Ray’s ear.

“Diefenbaker,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” Ray sighs regretfully, climbing off my lap. “We'd better have a look at the mutt,” he says, walking to his bedroom door.

I follow, standing closely behind Ray, looking over his shoulder to a pitiful looking Diefenbaker on Ray’s bed.

“I certainly hope you learnt your lesson.” I try for a stern voice but seeing Dief in pain makes it a rather mute attempt.

“He going to be okay?” Ray asks, looking worriedly at Diefenbaker who has rolled on his side, holding up his injured paw.

“Certainly, Ray,” I step up to Ray’s bed and pet Dief’s head. “I suppose a good nights rest and some downtime will have him on his feet in no time.”

“A good nights rest, huh?”

“Yes, Ray.”

“You could … you know,” Ray points at his bed rather embarrassingly and when Dief snorts by my side I have to supress a smile.

“Are you inviting me into your bed, Ray?”

“Yeah … I … you know, just … Dief is already in and,” Ray starts laughing about his own babbled words then, his right hand rubbing over his neck and I just have to reach for him, his wrist to pull him close for a kiss.

We fall on the bed, bumping into Diefenbaker who protests rather rudely.

“You pay and pay and pay,” Ray whispers against my mouth, laughing.

“Indeed, Ray.”

“We could sleep on the couch,” Ray suggests, kissing my jaw.

“Mhmmm,” I moan. “I’m afraid Diefenbaker would be insufferable then, accusing us of being selfish, just looking after our own needs.”

“Needs, huh?”

“Yes, needs, Ray,” I kiss his lips again, my hands buried in his hair.

“Dief could sleep on the couch then,” Ray suggests, thrusting against my body but Diefenbaker will hear nothing of it. I don’t know how he was able to even read what Ray has said but he states rather loudly what he thinks about Ray’s suggestion.

Ray groans frustrated into my shoulder then and I just have to laugh, holding Ray’s head against me.

“I’m truly sorry, Ray.”

“Yeah,” he mouths my shirts. “Just sleep with me then.”

“Certainly, Ray.”

We undress to underwear and shirts and climb into Ray’s bed, Diefenbaker carefully placed between us that he appreciates by snuggling even closer.

It’s easier than I expected, lying down beside Ray, touching him rather gently, unhurried, just enjoying his presence, HIM.

Ray’s face gets soft, the crinkles on his face evening out when he falls asleep, never letting go of my hand, and that’s how it must be like, having a family gathered around a hurt family member, spending comfort, protection.

It takes awhile for me to go to sleep, holding rather too strongly onto the image of Ray, Diefenbaker and myself so close and peaceful, together. But in the end I just have to close my eyes and sleep, never forgetting the presences beside me, my family.

As much as Ray is impatient during the day, he is slow, almost grumpy, in the morning, letting me know in a slurring voice to leave Dief with him – it’s his day off - and that he will get me after I’m done working.

So, I place a quick kiss on Ray’s lips before I leave for an uneventful day at work, disregarding Constable Turnbull’s constant complaints about too tight trousers – leather trousers in his case – which really are impractical and don’t support a proper blood circulation in a male body.

I refuse to give this particular statement much thought; it’s kind of disturbing and given that neither Ray nor I wear such garments, rather unimportant.

It’s around 4 o’clock when the phone on my desk rings – Constable Turnbull must have transferred the call from the front desk.

“Canadian Consulate, Liaison Officer …”

“Fraser,” Ray sounds almost panicky and since I checked on Diefenbaker before I left this morning something else must have happened.

“Ray, I …”

“My mother,” he sighs, I can clearly picture his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I musta said something … Oh God!”

“What is it about your mother, Ray? I hope she is well.”

“She’s coming by, Fraser.”

“Lovely,” I’m still not certain what made Ray this agitated.

“No, Fraser,” he yells. “No! She’s coming by the Consulate,” I can hear Ray sitting down on his couch heavily.

“I …”

“She wants to have tea with you.”

“I’m certainly able to …”

“TEA, Fraser!”

“Ah, I understand,” I answer, my hand rubbing over my eyebrow unintentionally.

“You do?”

No, not really I want to answer truthfully when Constable Turnbull carefully knocks at my office door, smiling shyly when he enters, announcing a guest – Mrs. Kowalski is barely visible behind Turnbull’s tall figure.

“I have to go, Ray,” I say into the phone receiver.

“She’s there, isn’t she?”

“Yes, Ray,” I can hear him groan on the other end of the line, mumbling something about baby pictures, and suddenly it dawns on me why Ray might be this agitated. He obviously must have said something toward his mother that made her aware of our changed relationship. I tug at my collar nervously, my smile hopefully appearing inviting to Mrs. Kowalski as she takes a seat in front of my desk.

Oh dear.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Written using these promts:  
> 1\. Fraser giving Ray fencing lessons  
> 2\. Turnbull in tight leather pants  
> 3\. Ray's mom having a cup of tea with Fraser  
> 4\. peanut butter jelly sandwiches in bed  
> 5\. Dief getting hurt


End file.
